


burning the candle from both ends

by rosey_piink_heart



Series: THE RELIABLE TESTIMONY OF MONSIEUR OKILO || a friend to the fantome [1]
Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux
Genre: F/M, it's oc shipping time..........
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-18 07:04:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21690403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosey_piink_heart/pseuds/rosey_piink_heart
Summary: ann prefers the natural aroma of erik's body to those heavy-bodied perfumes of his.
Relationships: Erik | Phantom of The Opera/Original Female Character(s) of Color, Erik/Original Character(s)
Series: THE RELIABLE TESTIMONY OF MONSIEUR OKILO || a friend to the fantome [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1563613
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	burning the candle from both ends

They had burnt that Sunday night away working themselves half to death. It was no fault of the managers, but of their own hubris they both chose to work beyond exhaustion to chase these creative and literary endeavors. Ann offered to, while he slept, wash and dry their clothes the very next morning.

A kind gesture masked the deviant nature of her proposal. 

It was surprising enough that a man such as himself allowed her to take his belongings once he changed into his nightclothes. She watched as his eyelids fell half-way before he forced himself awake and nodded along to her request. As though he was a tired dog, she had to force a laugh down. Surprise and joy buzzed her a moment longer than sweet, snickering temptation. He was private. She understood so. She recalled the sight of his wrist when he helped his clothes into her arms through a sliver in his bedroom door. Although his knuckles and palm were riddled with callous, his wrist looked brittle, and the path of skin over his veins were soft with age. As elusive as he was, he was filled with such small details itching to be explored.

As Ann unpacked her things, his dress shirt was plucked to the side. She, in some sense, didn’t expect him to agree to the matter at all. Such a question should have shot him wide-awake! Instead.. Well, she smiled to herself. Only to dismiss her joy soon after. Her poor friend was too tired to rationalize the situation.  
_'Vell,'_ she argued with herself, _'if that man didn’t reason against me making vay 'ith his shirt, it isn’t likely he cares for it all that much.'_ Making eye contact with the fabric every so often as she put away her things, a part of her wondered if the shirt would roll away if it knew its destiny here. 

She nabbed it off the floor before it could escape, unlacing her boots and gown as she crawled into bed. She looked upon the shirt fondly, pensively, then clutched the shirt close to her chest as she peered around the room. Her mind rolled quietly, still gauging the room for noise, before lifting the shirt over her face, and taking a deep breath in. Ann fell back into her feathered nest and kicked her feet beneath the covers.

Erik was a busy, busy man. Poorly-kept when he worked so strenuously... However, most days he conformed to the 'well-behaved' odors, excessively of powder and labdanum, mostly (she bet) to compliment the lichen and mildew of his estate. Wear chypre when you can, she supposed. Tonight the pleasures of the comfortable wore thin and he smelled of the other fiery, passionate creatures of the arts! Spice and leather! Oh, she loved it so... She whiffed again, eyelids fallen to pick apart the slight, but ever-significant notes. Ink, lead, dry wood, and sweat... 

She hummed warmly, feeling the padding of her bed beneath the fabric and wondered, what it might feel like to touch his chest like this? Her hand resting against his abdomen, tracing up his form, grasping over his chest… What would it mean to lean forward into him, then?

The sleep deprived fool, he cursed himself in his mind. 

Allowing her to take his shirt - he needed it so! The fabric was so forgiving towards his skin, never burning, never clawing... He crawled from building to building before the sun peeked into the horizon, when the night just began to lighten, and stalked the door of her balcony before slipping inside the north entry into the sitting room with ease. 

He knew pathways and pathways upon pathways to her humble home, the inside mapped carefully for his own self-preservation. The shadow crept silently, curving around corners in ghostly ways, following the creases of the dark in rooms, and attentive to the aching spots in the flat. The happenings of wood floors he had forgotten for a time, it seemed. One could light a bomb backstage and little would be heard until the ringing stopped. In that dreaded place there was absolutely too much noise. Here, in the night, all was quiet.  
As he lurked about the space without her controlling his actions, he allotted himself a bit more time to observe here and there. He stared longingly upon the sitting chair and couch which many nights had been spent in good company. Fanciful card tricks, illusion, a bit of gamble, and tricks! Not to mention the dining and refreshments! He'd never enjoyed such heady Bratwurst—served alongside those savory little dumplings... Oh, he was delighted to be in such a home. The little woman spoke to him as though he was just like any other man. For brief moments in passing, he supposed he was. How strange that was, he thought tenderly. Now, he stands, turning his head to the balcony door he broke into. It was strange he could think such things, indeed. 

When he led himself to her room, in an exhausted and unexpected way, he found his shirt at last! Curled about her little body, half-buttoned, and wrinkling—there it was!

Once he finished managing his ragged breath from the other room, he approached his dearest friend's doorway again yet again. Silently, he flowed across the floor to her bedside where her back was facing him. It was a curious sight to him. If she had planned to wash the fabric, she did no good to sleep about in it... He was certain that if his clothes were foul enough to need the hand of a friend, then it only reflected poorly of Ann to willingly cloak herself inside! Silly, silly girl. 

He sighed. This wouldn't do. Not only did he need his shirt, but Ann had no business tainting her rich, lovely skin with his filth.

Erik considered lulling her into hypnosis with that dear pocket-watch of hers, though she may rouse upon hearing it being tinkered with at all. Too risky. No, instead, he would sing for her. No man nor beast could stand immune, so much so he would sing gently—for her. 

In the midst of a vast darkness, featherlight brushstrokes of periwinkle traced her black and still mind. Twinkling, the color furthered itself. The darkness crept away as the colors of this world were splashed to life, leaving in its wake a vast meadow of lavender. Above was powder blue and free of clouds. With the sky so endless and plains so thickly bloomed before her, her skirts ballooned out as she took a seat among the painterly and confusing field. She hummed sweetly, shifting into the music which spun around her arms and waist lovingly.  
Glittering flowers tickled in her ears, growing and regrowing as she shook her head, giggling. They fell out from her head and plopped down below! 

She rested with a batch of flowers in her lap before suddenly, they spoke to her. 

_"You are not awake, dear girl. I am so cold... May I have your coat?"_ The lavenders rattled, shimmering as she made her request. 

Tiredly and slowly, the girl roused into a sitting position and began unbuttoning her coat for the flowers. Sleepy little fingers toyed with the fastens, her grip needing two or three tries to lift the fabric overtop the milky button.  
_"Mmn, .. Vould'nt vant chu to be cold.."_ She slurred, politely. 

Breath caught when her arms looped out of the shirt to expose her barren back. Erik lurched back from the bed, eyes flickering to the fabric, to her skin, and all the room in his head that the space between those two could fill. He crept back, weary and invading. Was he to burn the fabric? To adorn a shirt which had been against a woman's bare body... He smoothed his breath, lifted his boney end from her floor, and crawled forward. A spindly hand crept up her lap where she had rested her coat and his shirt, thanked her in a sing-song voice, and then drew the article back to himself carefully. 

As he stood, she tucked herself neatly back into bed with a sweet little murmur. Something indiscernible, he had as a last thought. 

Removing himself was just as silent, though stiffer than he had hoped. As though his unearthly form was recovering from paralysis, only when he felt the boat swirl under his weight did he understand where he was again. He swallowed dryly. Paddle in hand, he found himself again and gathered his surroundings. Looking to the shirt in his hand, he brought it forward to his pitiful nose and wrinkled his expression. 

How pungent! He frowned, then dropped his shirt to the boat.  
He would do well to mist himself.

**Author's Note:**

> i've never post on ao3 before. do you enjoy ann as a character? do you have any writing tips? incredibly eager to listen!


End file.
